


Something Merry This Way Comes

by mybelovedcheshire



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, SNNOOOOOWWWW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-22 08:27:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/607824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mybelovedcheshire/pseuds/mybelovedcheshire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver's alone at school during the Christmas holidays, and very bored. The more down time he has, the more he realises just how much he misses not having a certain Hufflepuff Seeker around...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Merry This Way Comes

Oliver pushed his eggs around his plate aimlessly. One looked a bit like a quaffle, and another like a broomstick, but even that wasn’t riveting enough to get his attention. 

He was distracted. His mind was elsewhere. Thankfully it was the Christmas holiday, so he wasn’t expected to be in class -- but it was the holiday itself that was responsible for his present state of melancholy. 

He glanced down the length of the Gryffindor table. No one else was up -- not from his house, anyway. There were two Ravenclaws at the far end, and a small, but chatty group of Hufflepuffs across from him, but no Gryffindors and no Slytherins. Their houses weren’t exactly known for being early risers.

He was an anomaly. 

A sad anomaly, as it turned out. 

He watched the Hufflepuffs -- all younger students, either second or third years. And all enjoying the freedom of being at school with no parents, no classes, and no commitments -- it was heavenly for them. It should have been heavenly for anyone who didn’t want to go home. 

He thought it would be. But it wasn’t. 

It wasn’t active enough. It was boring. He’d been out to the pitch already that morning -- he’d probably go out again in an hour or two. He’d done all the work his professors expected of him (which, in fairness, was not very much), and now there was nothing left. He wasn’t used to being so lazy. He honestly didn’t like it. George said he’d been infected -- that he’d been hanging out with too many Hufflepuffs, and that they’d given him some kind of hard-working disease. 

George was right. He was infected.

But it wasn’t that. 

It was a painful kind of yearning, deep in his chest. It made his face hot, and his throat tight. It left him speechless, which was bloody remarkable, because he was a fairly chatty kind of bloke.

It was stupid. He pushed his plate away and stood up.

No one else looked at him. The professors carried on talking, pleasantly unaware of his suffering. The other students didn’t spare him a glance, as he shuffled out of the Great Hall. 

What a dumb thing to have happen to him. And with the enemy, of all people! He’d criticised his other team-mates for fraternising, and there he was... flying tail over nose in love with a Hufflepuff. 

Not just a Hufflepuff -- the Hufflepuff. Cedric was their team captain. Oliver smiled. 

And then he scowled. 

He marched towards the great, oak doors. It was snowing outside, and it would only get worse, but he could convince himself that the cold would be helpful -- it was a heroic kind of personal training. If nothing else, it would numb him up and maybe keep him from thinking about that stupid, shy, handsome, stupid, gentle, stupid Hufflepuff. 

The wind caught him square in the face when he pushed open one of the doors. If he hadn’t been gripping the handle, he’d have been blown right back inside. There was no way he could fly in that -- he couldn’t see ten feet ahead of him the snow was so thick. The pitch was invisible -- the path leading out to the pitch completely gone. 

He was, as a muggleborn friend often said, shit out of luck. He scowled again. 

But above the roar of the wind, and the disconcerting screaming noises it made as it rushed through the castle parapets, he heard a steady crunch, crunch, crunch from somewhere in the frozen wasteland outside. He couldn’t see anything -- it was just a wall of white, and the wind made it impossible to pinpoint exactly where the sound was coming from. He needed Potter for this -- stick the kid on his shoulders for a better view, and he’d have been able to spot a white rabbit slipping down its hole, even in this mess. 

A second gust carried a ball of snow bigger than a Snitch right into his eyes. He staggered backwards, letting the door swing open as he scraped ice from his face. “For the love of Deirdre...” He wiped away the water with the sleeve of his sweater and blinked several times. His vision was a little blurry, but he could still see! Not like that time in his second year, when Gryffindor played Ravenclaw, and he’d gone temporarily blind. It’d taken him a whole ten minutes to realise, but luckily Madame Pomfrey was on hand to patch him right up once he had. Everyone had been required to wear goggles after that. It wasn’t a bad change, if he was being honest. 

“Are you all right?”

Oliver blinked again. The crunching had stopped. He looked up, a dismissive sound on the tip of his tongue... 

And swallowed it down when he saw those concerned grey eyes staring back at him. 

Cedric smiled sheepishly. “Oliver?”

Oliver’s mouth hung open slightly. 

Cedric’s smile widened. 

It took a minute or two of awkward staring, but Oliver found his voice at last and asked: “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be on holiday.”

“I thought I might come back early,” the burlier Hufflepuff answered quietly, wrapping his cloak around him. The wind was still kicking snow in through the main door, piling it up around their feet. “Were you...” He didn’t want to ask -- it seemed too stupid to ask if Oliver had been waiting for him. “What...” He stopped, took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Hello.”

Oliver scanned him from head to toe. Were snow mirages a real thing? And what was that clicking sound? It couldn't actually be Cedric, because Cedric had -- as he could recall quite clearly -- very lovely, pink lips, and this ghostly pale phantasm was practically blue all over. He was trembling. Oliver’s eyes narrowed sceptically.

Cedric shifted uncomfortably. His teeth were chattering so loudly that he was convinced they could be heard in Hogsmeade. “Oliver?”

The wind whipped the hem of Cedric’s cloak around his legs, hobbling him and simultaneously shoving him forward. He stumbled, trying to disentangle himself from his robes before he face-planted on the cold, stone floor, and failed -- but he needn’t have worried. Oliver grabbed him, steadying him with both hands as the cold, winter air smashed into them. It knocked a bit of sense into Oliver’s slightly stupefied brain, as the older boy shouted: “Merlin, sorry!” over the din and tried to shoulder the door closed without letting go. But it wouldn’t budge. The snow had piled in while Oliver was staring and Cedric was shaking, blocking the entryway. Both boys took several steps back, Oliver holding Cedric so he wouldn’t fall, and Cedric leading the way, so Oliver wouldn’t walk into a wall while ice clumped around his eyelashes. 

“Sorry!” Oliver said again. “Should have realised you must be bloody freezing!”

And he was. Cedric nodded ungainly -- he was so cold, his tongue felt numb. 

“Oi!” A horrible, familiar voice split through the air. “Oi, what in the name of--” Filch’s eyes widened as he saw the snow the boys had tracked halfway across the entrance hall. They all but bulged out of his head as he followed the puddle to the door where the snow was cascading inwards like a waterfall. 

Cedric and Oliver exchanged a quick, startled glance. 

“Sorry!” They shouted simultaneously, and legged it. Oliver yanked Cedric along behind him, all but dragging the far heavier Hufflepuff up the stairs and away from Filch, who shouted angrily at their retreating backs. Both boys scrambled through the first open door and down the corridor as fast as they could. Hopefully Filch would be too preoccupied with the snow to follow them, but it was impossible to tell with Filch. 

And even if Filch didn’t chase them, his ruddy cat might. Mrs. Norris was better at locating misbehaving students than a hound dog. 

They didn’t stop running until they’d worked their way up another couple of floors. Oliver had almost run right off the end of a moving staircase, and Cedric had tripped on the end of his cloak, but somehow -- a little bit battered -- they found themselves red-faced and out of breath in front of the hidden door to the Prefect’s Bath. 

They listened carefully for any telltale meowing or heavy footsteps, but there was nothing. There were no other students, no professors -- even the ghosts seemed to vanish around the holidays. They were people, too... technically -- they had other things to do. 

Cedric doubled over, panting. Oliver grinned from ear to ear. 

“What do you say?”

Cedric tilted his head, looking up at the exuberant Gryffindor. “What?”

Oliver jerked his head in the direction of the door. “Let’s hide.”

Cedric tried to laugh, but only managed a weak cough. He was still freezing. A hot bath sounded like just the thing, actually. But he wasn’t supposed to let others in; it was prefects only. 

And yet, it was also the Christmas Holiday. No one would be in there -- no one would be trying to get in there any time soon. He straightened up, taking a deep breath. Oliver’s expression shifted ever so slightly from excitement to a wicked kind of enthusiasm. 

“C’mon, Ced,” he added in a hushed whisper. 

Cedric exhaled slowly, and gave the password.


End file.
